For those of you who love erotic paranormal romance with kink, we have something special for you! Out today at Sizzler Editions, Bound After Midnight.

This awesome anthology features novellas by Bonni Sansom, Margie Church and yours truly. Three tales of otherworldly romance and kink!

The ties that bind are not always visible, the universal concept of love, not always seen clearly through the eyes of the wandering traveler. This is no truer than in the case of Solan, a warrior with an unknown destiny in "Finding Eternity." Wounded on the battlefield, his rescue by a vampire who yearns to be his proves to be too much for a man with no concept of ownership. "Cream on the Crop" is a rather tongue in cheek, yet powerful story about a strong willed woman of privilege making her own way in the country until a specter appears and shows her carnal delights through submission of more than just will. Demanding blood lust fuels our characters in "Hunter's Bounty," a tale of rescue featuring a very unlikely type of shape-shifter as love interest for our vampire heroine. Each tale weaves the intricacies of kinky sensuality, sensual romance and story enough to keep you turning the pages of this hot collection. Perhaps you, too, may find yourself lucky enough to be Bound After Midnight...

Launched on 22 February 2013 by BarbarianSpy in e-book form, a rare GM short story collection on the extreme SM act sounding, Sounding Five, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt). (The paperback edition, which will include perhaps habu's most popular and controversial short story, "Dark Angel Sounding," is forthcoming.)

As of 23 February, Sounding Five has jumped to the #2 best-seller position in Anthologies/Bundles at Allromanceebooks.com.

BLURB:

Sounding Five provides five stories by habu of what possibly is the most intimate and dominating sex act one man can perform on another, one that is so intimate and extreme that it is only rarely written about. Sounding is a BDSM fetish of domination, trust, and control. One slip of the wand and a man can be ruined. Few engage in the activity, but those who do know that it can provide them with ultimate arousal and satisfaction.

In the first work in this anthology, “Searching for It,” a young sailor from Vancouver, who is on the East Coast of the United States for the first time in his life, working on a private yacht, goes searching for relief in the gay district of New York near the docks area at the foot of Manhattan. He finds something he’s never experienced before, the tease of a sounding-like technique, in a gay club and winds up being kidnapped to be given the full sounding experience himself.

“Career Guidance” is the story of a young-looking Hollywood star who has rebelled against always playing young, boyish roles by engaging in a life of debauchery, including publicly gossiped-about encounters in a car with a transvestite. His agent, as a last-chance measure, uses the controlling mechanism of sounding to put the young actor in his place and attempt to save his career as well as fulfill the long-frustrated fantasies of the agent himself.

A high-paid male prostitute is given a “punishment” assignment by his pimp to provide unusual and taxing services to a kinky doctor in “Prepped and Sounded.” And “Roswell’s Frontier Motel” explores an alien variation of sounding in the supernatural world, for a highly unusual take on this fetish.

The concluding story, “Do You Trust Me?,” takes the reader to the picturesque Italian harbor town of Positano, where a young fisherman and café singer shows that he’s willing to do anything to leave Italy and break into movies—even a very specific kind of movie.

EXCERPT:

From “Career Guidance”

Danny’s eyes got really big and his body tensed and went rigid as he watched Wasserman open the wooden box on the table to reveal a series of size-graduated silver medical instruments—wands with slight bulbing at the tips—long, thin phalluses—arranged neatly in indentations in a blue-velvet foundation.

“What? What?” Danny’s voice was filled with question and fear.

“The instruments of discipline . . . of ultimate domination, Danny,” Wasserman said in a low, hoarse voice. “I want you to understand. I don’t want to ever have to do this again—not as long as you have a career. Consider this career guidance. The best lesson you will ever learn from me; your salvation in being able to prolong your career. Your utter understanding of who is in charge here.”

“No, please . . . don’t, . . . . I’ll be good. I’ll . . . Oh, noooo.”

“Hold still. Hold perfectly still. But not rigid. It will be much easier if you are relaxed. But very still. Very, very still.”

Danny was whimpering again and Wasserman couldn’t feel him breathing he was holding so still. Wasserman had taken one of the smaller wands out of the box and was holding it in front of Danny’s terrified eyes.
“Breathe,” Wasserman commanded. “Don’t hold your breath. You won’t be able to hold it as long as we’ll be working here. We will be at this for a while.”

“Noooooo,” Danny whimpered.

When Wasserman had come under Danny, he had lifted the young man’s arms over his head, so that Danny was stretched out against Wasserman’s chest, his tied wrists at the back of Wasserman’s neck.

The name of the game is control. Hugh's a lawyer for a well-known defense firm. That was Daddy's choice -- both the profession and the firm. His father's control is second only to that of the wealthy society Hugh moves in. In Hugh's world, image is everything. But appearances can be deceiving. Blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, a cute face and boyish charm belie the shark within... His obsession? Hot cars. And small, blond twinks.

Enter Tobis. This sweet young twink isn't at all what he appears to be. Alpha of the Blood Moon pack, Tobis is one of the strongest weres around. And he's on the hunt. Tobis' obsession? Leather. Particularly on his submissive mate.

Hugh sat at the table watching as Kain, Jordan, and Allen made their moves on the prey they’d picked out. He’d checked the dance floor, and not one guy he saw impressed him so far. He needed a change -- something or someone to break the monotony. With a sigh, he picked up his glass. Before he could take a drink, that feeling of being watched hit him square between the shoulder blades again. His shoulders tensed and chill bumps broke out over his flesh.

“What the hell?” While he was used to being stared at, and even got his own far share of attention from the paparazzi, this was different. More intense, more…threatening, almost. Unease flooded him, and he couldn’t shake the recurring feeling of danger. Hugh glanced around, but didn’t see anyone taking an undue interest in him. Maybe a family member of one of the defendants they’d gotten off was stalking him. Hugh dismissed the idea immediately; that was just silly.

More likely his old man had someone keeping an eye on him. Now that he could believe-- the nosey old bastard. “Fuck this.” The whole night had been off from the get-go, and he’d had enough. He rose, with every intention of leaving, when the overhead lights spotlighted someone at the bar below.

“Well, hello,” he murmured as he stared at the young man at the main bar. Jesus, how had he missed this one? He was perfect. Damned if he was leaving now. The night was suddenly looking up.

Dressed simply, in faded jeans, a black T-shirt, and a leather bomber jacket, was a stranger, one of the most gorgeous men Hugh had ever seen. He was everything he wanted in a man -- cute, small, and blond. The perfect twink. Actually, the tiny blond looked entirely too young to be in Night Moves, but he was sure the guy wouldn’t be allowed in if he was underage. To make things even better, his target was staring at him. Even from this distance, he could see the hunger dancing in the stranger’s eyes. He was a little more blue-collar than Hugh normally went for, but what the hell. Hadn’t he just been thinking he needed a change?

“Yeah, why not?”

Hugh had taken no more than a few steps when the man at the bar winked at him. Most of the twinks he picked up were either drama queens or shy little guys. There was certainly nothing shy about this man. Hugh raised an eyebrow. He’d have to show the stranger who was in charge, of course, then they could have some fun. At least it looked like he wasn’t going to have to put out much effort tonight, and that suited him just fine. Hugh made his way down stairs to the main bar and to the guy waiting on him.

“Hey there, sexy. Buy you a drink?” Hugh stood next to his target, music pounding in the background. He was a good half a foot taller, he noticed.

“I’ll let you buy me a drink, then you can take me home with you. How does that sound, darlin’?”

Hugh’s entire body clenched at that southern drawl. Well, fuck. That was the sexiest thing… he’d heard of a whiskey-soaked voice before, but this… this was decadent. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Direct is how it sounds.”

“Problem?”

Hugh motioned to the bartender and resisted the urge to readjust his cock. That accent had him hardening immediately. “Absolutely not. Just not used to it.”

“Now that’s a crying shame.”

“I’m beginning to think so myself.” Jesus, every word that fell from the guy’s lips set him on fire. A quick look around showed he wasn’t the only one affected by that slow drawl. He frowned at two women and a man in warning. This sexy thing with the voice that was as slow as molasses was his for the night; he would be the one that heard the guy cry out in pleasure.

Relaunched in expanded form by BarbarianSpy on 29 March, a GM novel, Dance of the Ravishers, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).

BLURB:

Exotic Rituals in the Heat of the African Night.

When Beau Lafleur was awarded the prestigious graduate student slot in the Sudan based archaeological excavation project of the legendary Dr. Emmet Emory, he assumed he would have to curb his voracious appetite for gay male sex.

What he discovers, however, is a local tribe's fertility ritual, the Dance of the Ravishers. And not only are the natives seeking release but the dance affects the men of the expedition, some of whom become swept up in the tribes rituals.
For a shocked Beau it slowly emerges that the dance of sexual release may be far more rampant within the expedition’s camp than he ever dreamed.

This is a BarbarianSpy rewrite, expansion, and relaunch of the eXcessica novella by the same title.

REVIEW EXCERPT:

“Dance of the Ravishers is sexually charged from start to finish, a wild ride of continuous sexual release. (A) fun and stimulating read. Fans of rough and tumble sexual fantasies will be sure to enjoy this story!”—Emily, Rainbow Reviews

EXCERPT:

When I got to the altar, I laid Clint down on it and undressed him. He was a beautiful blond youth of no more than twenty. He had been considered somewhat of a child prodigy and had received his doctorate in archaeology at the tender age of eighteen. I had been left with the impression that he was all study and no play, but when I got his clothes off, I saw that he must have had good exercise, because his body, although lithe, was well-muscled. Not overly so, but enough to have posed for Michelangelo. And when his eyeglasses came off, his face looked angelically handsome. I knew that there would be men who preferred much younger-looking men who would ache to get their cocks inside him. His cock was small but was perfectly formed and was in proportion to his balls. There were men, I knew, who would much appreciate this too. Because we had been working under the African sun for nearly two months, his torso and legs halfway up his thigh were deeply tanned. His upper thighs and pelvis, and his nicely rounded butt cheeks, however, were a creamy white. The whiteness of his pelvis served to spotlight the youthful sex of him.

He lay on his back, breathing hard and trying to suppress his fearful whimpering, as I undressed. I fiddled around in a pocket to my shorts and came up with a small tube of lubricant and a condom packet and held these up for him to see.

“I came prepared, as you can see,” I said.

He answered with a nervous and uncertain laugh.

I then stood up to the altar at his feet and slowly pulled him down to me by his calves and then his thighs. I opened his legs and positioned them on my shoulders, and then I stroked his inner thighs with my fingers . .

Kay Maclachan cannot speak the words that she holds fast in her heart. Jim will not propose until she does, but he has a plan. He will treat his love to a night of BDSM and Domination, teasing all of her senses, and driving her into a white-hot, sexual desire that begs for fulfillment. He will force her to say the words he needs to hear, and enjoy torturing them from her.

Excerpt:

I knew I had come too close. I wanted to feel him penetrate me and knew that I would have given myself in complete abandon, to feel both of us twisting and writhing together, our limbs entangled, wanting to be closer than our bodies would allow. I wanted us to be more than just an extension of each other. I wanted to climax with the length of him pulsing hard as his seed spilled into me, forcing me to climax repeatedly, with my hot wetness clinging tightly to him, together in every conceivable way, as we became part of each other.

After several minutes in this too-public pavilion, he breathed against me, whispering between kisses, "You can't know what you do to me, my little bit."

I visibly shook with desire I could barely contain. Jim grazed me with his teeth, ensuring I could feel everything I had made him feel. He pressed his granite need against my buttocks and continued, "But, by tomorrow, you will know."

Jim continued his sensuous assault and a sweet, tormenting ache began between my thighs.

I smiled then, since he did not have clear view of my face as he stood behind me, and thought, "Oh, but I do know, and I hope you never find out what you do to me."

He was still moving his hand expertly, teasingly pinching my nipples beneath my gown, rolling each one between his fingers, then cupping and kneading my breasts with both hands, while our backs were to the building and his tall, muscular size afforded us a small degree of privacy.

Still, we both knew someone could catch us at any moment. It would be obvious we were no longer admiring the scenery, with my chest heaving, eyes closed, our skin flushed and glistening, and our breathing shallow and labored. My entire body shook in deep arousal. His tailored trousers strained against his erection threatening the seams, with his lips slightly swollen and telltale bruises adorning my neck and shoulders.

Almost painfully, he lifted his head. Taking my face in his strong hands, he turned me to face him, each of us knowing in a glance what the other was thinking. Our eyes met and instantly conveyed our mutual need for immediate privacy. Then he lightly pressed a kiss to my lips with one hand resting on the small of my back.

Worse was that I knew I would let him, and for the time we made love, all else would fall away. There would be only him. Everything he did would make me feel utterly and completely loved, and my every response would inflame his passions even more. Making love with Jim was always surprising, new, and different. I was his wholly, body, mind, and soul.

We paused and I fought to focus on the lake below the pavilion as Jim attempted to retrieve cigarettes from the pocket of his suit jacket. I admired the way it strained over his strong, well-muscled shoulders.

Again, I forced myself to visualize various ducks and wild creatures coming to drink from the lake. I made a silent, mental effort to name the types of fish one might find in a lake like this one. While Jim searched for cigarettes, I leaned, arching my back slightly, as my stiletto heels were beginning to make my backache.

Holding onto the railing with both hands, I watched him searching his pockets before he finally found cigarettes. As he was lighting one, I wondered if I had gone too far, if I should have stopped this interlude before it began. I could not read those eyes sometimes.

After a long, deep drag, he slowly looked me up and down and said, "You do strike a most delicious pose," then he gave me a wry smile.

I winced, never having thought of how I must look, back arched, hair swept up, face turned up to his, eyes smoldering with desire, chest arched out, revealing more cleavage than intended by the dress or me. Immediately, I gasped and stood up straight.

I began letting my thoughts stray once more, getting lost in admiring his physique. I still could not get enough of just looking at him. At times, I railed against my intimate, voyeuristic thoughts of him, the way he moved so self-assuredly, the way his muscled back rippled, and the way his taut, firm buttocks clenched, driving me crazy.

Throwing caution to the wind and giving in to temptation, I decided to risk spending more time here on this grand marble and brass pavilion, hidden partly behind a large pillar but without a private moment to call our own. I flashed a devious smile to his smoldering eyes, riveted to the fascination and beauty there, knowing that someday he may be the death of me.

Still, I ran my hands seductively over his chest. At first, he began, "Don't," but he was smiling, and I knew he was not angry for having let me get this far.

It was a promising tease, which he allowed for a moment, knowing I was actually torturing both of us.

He closed his eyes as I opened several buttons on his shirt to press my hand to his bare chest, gently teasing the hair on his hardened form, lightly running my fingertips over his skin as far as that blasted shirt would allow. Uttering an oath under my breath, I considered tearing the tailored shirt from him and pushing him against the pillar to touch, lick, taste, kiss, and nip every inch of his flesh.

Expanded and relaunched on 20 April by BarbarianSpy, habu’s GM anthology, Rough Riders:

One day after launching, already #3 bestselling anthology/bundle e-book at Allromanceebooks.com.

BLURB:

It isn’t just the act of sex alone that can be rough for a gay male. The relationships involved and the whole circumstance in which one male comes together with another (or more than one) male to satisfy basic hungers can be explosive in both physical and emotional terms. In this compendium of fifty short stories, habu hones in on giving readers some scintillating examples of tales and circumstances—and sexual acts—that are on the rougher side in more than one dimension. This collection isn’t for the faint of heart—but it’s a must read for those who like their GM stories rough and raw, both physically and emotionally.

This e-book is an expansion for BarbarianSpy of the eXcessica anthology published as Rough Rides.

EXERPT:

From “9:30 Bus from Abilene”

The two cowboys sat down at my table.

“Hi, I’m Tex,” the older one said as he sat down. “This here’s Dusty.” They were both wearing the traditional ten-gallon cowboy’s hat and Dusty just tipped his hat at me without saying anything. But he had a big grin on his face.

“Hi, I’m Glade,” I answered.

“Glade. That’s an unusual name,” Tex said.

“Yeah. I sorta picked it out myself,” I said. “Didn’t much care for what I’d been called before that.” I didn’t tell them that it was my stage name. All of us pole dancers picked out names that the customers would find intriguing and easy to remember. Most picked out suggestive or downright explicit names. I had wanted to be a bit more subtle with mine.

“Goin’ far?” Tex asked.

“All the way to Denver,” I answered.

“Dusty and me are gettin’ off in Durango. We work a cattle ranch west of there. Been down in Abilene to see the sights. Were you in Abilene long or just passing through from somewheres else?”

“I was there a couple of months,” I answered. I was feeling a little disconcerted. Dusty wasn’t saying anything, but his leg was touching mine, and I felt those old yearnings building up inside me. Dusty was a real hunk. The strong silent type. And he was touching me. Any man who touched me set me going.

“Found something to do in Abilene, did you?” Tex asked. He was eyeing me with those piercing blues of his. It made me scared to lie.

“Oh, this and that,” I answered.

“You look kinda familiar, like we’ve seen you before. Dusty was remarking on that when we saw you climb into the bus. Spent any time around the tenderloin district? That’s mostly where Dusty and me sat drinkin’ our beers. Place called Rapier mostly. Any chance we’d have seen you there?”

“I’ve heard of it,” I answered in a rather tight voice. More than heard of it, it was one of three clubs Dave owned. I’d pole danced there. I wondered if Tex was establishing something with me—not just about me, but about him and Dusty too. You didn’t go into the Rapier looking for women.

Tex started to say something else, but the bus driver was tooting his horn, and it was time for all of us to make that last rest stop and to return to the bus.

When we climbed back into the bus, Dusty returned to his seat, but Tex followed me back to where I’d been sitting and sat down in the aisle seat right next to me.

The driver started up the bus and got back onto the road. I tried to settle my nerves. Tex’s leg was right up against mine, as was his upper arm. I could feel the hardness of his lean body through his checkered shirt. I was wearing an athletic T, so my biceps were bare. Just a thin layer of shirting between me and Tex’s hard, warm skin.

“Born and raised in Texas?” Tex asked.

“No,” I responded. “Lived here and there before that—mostly in the Midwest.”

“Family in Texas or in Denver? Going to Denver to visit family?” Tex asked.

“No. No family,” I answered. “No family anywhere.”

“None at all?” Tex asked. His face was turned to me and his pale blue eyes were full of sympathy.

“No. I was an orphan. Floated around a lot. A couple of foster families, but not anything I’d want to talk much about.” I turned my head toward the window. My eyes had suddenly gotten a little watery, and I didn’t want Tex to see that.

“No one at all waitin’ for you in Denver, either?” Tex asked. His voice was soft, full of concern.

“No. No one at all,” I answered. “Just startin’ out again. I do that a lot. I start out again a lot.”

I was still looking out the window, but I could see the reflection of Tex’s face in the window, as I thought he could see mine.

He had a hand on my thigh, just above the knee now, and I’m sure he could feel me trembling.

“Just relax, Glade,” he was whispering to me. “You’re so tense. I can help you with that.”

Relaunched by BarbarianSpy on 27 April, an expanded GM business office life novella, Anything for Ambition, by habu, a pen name of sr71plt.

BLURB:

Young Craig Crestar wishes to enter the world of big business, but is met by his bosses’ wishes to use him. He is told that he is to be made a king in the business world but finds himself only a servant until he decides to encase his heart in steel and make the most of an opportunity to land a monster deal in California with the randy CEO, Jonathan Binggum. In training and in working to do so, he fights the urge to come under the sway of yet another hunky boss, the former black pro footballer, CJ. Brown.

Anything for Ambition is an unabashed male-male, wall-to-wall action adventure of the lengths corporate executives will go to in providing fringe benefits to close the deal with the big client.

This is an expansion and new publisher relaunch of the eXcessica novella, Deal Closer.

EXCERPT:

Binggum got his first whiff of the chase when I rose up behind CJ’s chair when it was time for me to brief and I stood at the foot of the table near the slide show only long enough for Binggum to get me completely in his sights. I then walked back to stand beside him at the head of the table for much of my briefing. I could tell that he was hooked because of the thorough once-over he gave me while I was near the slide screen and by the way his eyes were glued to my crotch as I came over beside him. The definitely male musk cologne I was wearing couldn’t have hurt. For most of my briefing, his eyes remained plastered to me rather than to the slides that were flipping at the front of the room.

Suddenly, Binggum became much more interested in CJ’s proposal, and he asked fewer questions. By midafternoon, he seemed irritated if anyone else in the room dared to ask a penetrating or complex question, and he finally just waved all of his people away and said he wanted to discuss the final details with CJ “and his staff” alone. When the room had cleared, I gave a meaningful look at CJ and then turned to Binggum and asked if I could use the nearby men’s room before we restarted the discussions. Binggum said that was a fine idea and that he’d also take a men’s room break. CJ said he was just fine, thank you very much, and would set up the next part of the briefing while we were gone.

Binggum ushered me to a very plush executive washroom right next to the conference room. I went up to the bank of wash basins, while Binggum saddled up to a urinal. I was delighted to see that there were no barriers between the urinals.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered. “Is that a coffee stain I see on my shirt?” I looked into the mirror and made like I saw some sort of blotch. Without another word, I took my coat off and hung it on a stall door. And then, turning three-quarters toward where Binggum was standing up to a urinal, his eyes glued to me, I slowly unbuttoned and peeled off my shirt and held it out to inspect it. I was fully aware that my biceps were rippling in the effort and that I was fully exposed down to a slight curl of pubic hair above my trousers.

I made a few clucking sounds and acted like I must just be wrong, that I couldn’t find any coffee stains on my shirt. But, rather than put it back on, I draped it on top of my coat on the stall door and slowly walked toward Binggum. I approached the bank of urinals and, leaving two urinals between us, I moved in toward one—but not too close. I again turned a bit so that Binggum would get a full view of the action. I unzipped my tight pants and peeled them down onto my hips.

I have no doubt that I am undoubtedly the most piss-poor example of a technically proficient writer in the Western World. I've been on LIT for three years and I still don't know how to use the Discussion Board. Or if I did, I've forgotten. In any case, I wanted to put a note on this forum about the next Installment of the "When We Were Married" series.

The first book is "The Long Fall," which was 95 percent what ran on LIT, but there are changes. The second book is "Second Act"s which also consisted of the end of the serial on LIT, but there were additiions and 30,000 words or nearly a fifth of new material that never ran on LIT.

Finally, sometime early this month - I hope within the week - the third volume in the WWWM series will be published on Barnes and Noble, Smashwords and Amazon. "The Wind Is Rising, Part One" will run a little over 100,000 words. Shorter than Volumes One and Two, but still a respectable length for a novel. It brings the novel forward with new characters, new developments, but most of the characters people are familiar with are here and Bill and Debbie continue to be the focus of the series.

When the "Wind Is Rising" is published as an e-book, i'll make another notification here. I hope anyone who followed the story here will stick around because it's got a ways to go, and I think it's getting better.

It's been awhile since I've been on Literotica, but I think I have a general idea. Perhaps I can help. Please feel free to email me. I'll give you a few links, since I'm not sure where you are starting out.

Be My Alien, a M/M scifi romance, was release by Dreamspinner on May 8th. This is the first a series of co-authored novel length books.

~As of 5/10/13 Be My Alien made ARe Bestseller list and has a silver star.

~Five star review from Rainbow Book Reviews. "With delightful dollops of humor, comments that made me laugh, and incredible passion between the two almost instantly in love men, this is a wonderfully uplifting story."

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall on top of you like that. You see, it was like this. I was pushed, and you just happened to be there and….” The stranger grinned at Reed. “And down we went.”

Reed shifted under the body lying so contentedly on top of him. Hell’s bells, the guy fit against him perfectly. From the feel of things, they were both close to the same height. Which also meant certain things were… aligned. “Oh yeah, I’m okay. Banged my head a little, but I’m fine.”

The stranger bit his bottom lip, his teeth worrying the tender skin. Reed debated slamming his head against the floor a few more times in the hopes of rattling his brain back to normal as the stranger rolled off him.

“I really am sorry.”

“No harm done.” Reed sat up and looked at the guy once again. Well, not much harm, anyway. His libido just had to pick now to perk up, didn’t it? But damn, this guy was sexy. Reed struggled to his feet and held his hand out to the man still on the floor, looking up at him. The guy took his hand and let Reed pull him up. “Name’s Reed. Are you okay?”

“Hi, Reed!” The guy hopped to his feet in a single, lithe movement, as if it was the most….world. “My name is Taz. Nice to meet you, and yes, I am.”

For a moment there was a flash in the guy’s eyes that belied his statement. “Good, that’s good. Glad to hear it. Well, I guess I’d better be going—”

Reed hesitated. There was something about the guy that pulled at him. When was the last time he’d felt that pull? Way too long ago. Taz was cute, sure. But there was this look of hurt. Dammit, Taz just looked so lost. Insane as it was, he wanted to make it all better.

Trent, a young, handsome, lithe stage dancer, enjoying the best mix of the genes from a Jamaican father and French mother, is cruising the ocean with a dance troupe. He also is cruising for older, experienced men—and sometimes fending off the advances of younger, athletic men and sometimes not. While pursuing the sensual and dangerous-looking ship’s saxophonist, Buzz, in competition with a bevy of wealthy widows, on a Bahamas cruise out of Baltimore, Trent falls under the sway of an older and openly sexual and inventive Brazilian. Buzz at last shows interest in Trent too and acts on that in an overpowering way. Now Trent is left with a choice to make, if the men in his life will permit him to make the choice.

EXCERPT:

The Glory of the Seas cruise liner was in full entertainment mode, and those who had gathered in the Schooner bar for their prelunch alcoholic fix while listening to the combo of Dean on the piano and Buzz on the saxophone had mostly drifted away to other pursuits. A few diehards held on, though. . . . Two who were hanging on and listening to the music—and closely following every move Buzz made—were holding up either end of the bar facing the baby grand nestled up against the picture windows at the side of the bar overlooking the passing waves. . . .

At one end of the bar perched Glenda, a chiffon-scarf swathed, twice-divorced, and once widowed bottle-blonde, a pencil-thin, martini chain-drinking international model several decades removed. . . . At the other end of the bar, not as oblivious to Glenda and her intentions as the self-absorbed and perpetually pickled Glenda was to him, sat Trent. Trent was a ship performer just as Buzz was. He was a dancer in one of a few Gems of the Sea fourteen-member song and dance troupes that floated around the cruise line’s fleet. . . . Trent wasn’t a headliner, but he was good enough to be a lead dancer. He also was young, handsome, and lithe enough and enjoying the best mix of the genes from a Jamaican father and French mother to give him a standout sensual aspect in the set of three male dancers that typically backed up the lead singers.

During this set, Buzz had looked to him several times, projecting a heat and interest that had kept Trent plastered to the bar long after most others had drifted away. At the same time, Trent was not unaware that Buzz had also been exchanging looks with the older, rather floozy, but also obviously very rich, blonde at the other end of the bar.

It was a mystery to Trent who Buzz was favoring, but he knew there was some sort of competition under way. Thus, it was frustrating and a great disappoint when, having reached the end of his set, Buzz drifted over to the blonde. It wasn’t a complete surprise though. Buzz and Trent hadn’t actually ever talked, so Trent couldn’t make any claims that Buzz swung in his direction. . . .

Not wanting to give up possibilities, though, Trent stayed glued to the bar, nursing his second beer, while Buzz and the old blonde bantered for a short time, all smiles and tinkling laughter on her part and half-amused sultry looks on Buzz’s part, as Buzz moved closer and closer into her body. Eventually, with a hand on the small of her back as she perched on the stool, Buzz leaned over and whispered in her ear. Almost imperceptibly, although Trent was watching so closely that he caught it, Buzz cupped one of the woman’s breasts with his other hand. Trent could almost hear the woman purring from the other end of the bar.

Trent was still sitting there when the blonde had climbed off her perch, downed the last of her last martini, picked her clutch purse off the surface of the bar, and the two had glided from the room. Buzz was guiding her along with a hand cupping one of her buttocks cheeks.

“Another one?”

Trent snapped back into consciousness of where he was. The barman was standing by him, gesturing at his now-empty beer glass. His eyebrow was raised and he was pretending not to know the struggle that had just transpired—and that Trent had lost.

“No thanks. I’ve had enough.”

“And maybe seen enough,” the barman said. . . . “Buzz has business on the side to worry about,” the barman said. “Don’t take it personal.”

“I was just here for the music,” Trent said, with a defensive edge showing in his voice. He didn’t need anyone to come up with an excuse. Buzz just preferred women, and Trent had misread the signals. Too bad; he was a real hunk.

The barman pressed the subject. “I get off at four. Maybe you’d like—”

Trent turned and looked at the guy, seeing him for the first time. He was cute, but he wasn’t a bruiser. At least he didn’t come across that way despite the tattooing showing at the wrist of his white shirt. He was tall and thin and wiry. Trent was in the mood to be manhandled, not cuddled.

I've finally taken the plunge to have my first novel published (an ebook at least). I don't have a lot of experience with promoting on this site so I will go with a simple blurb I used at the publishing site (Smashwords).

Set in the Sixties, this is a story of young love and passion. A girl who believes in real-life fairy tales meets her Prince Charming at a very tender age. He’s handsome and charming but belongs to another. Fate makes him available and brings them together. He’s older, experienced, and so smooth; despite a nightmarish beginning, she falls hard for him. Is it love at first sight or blindness caused by the intensity of teenage first experiences?

As she learns everything about him, he seems the perfect mate. How can she win his affection and keep him interested until she’s old enough to be his lover. Will their relationship be heavenly fun or hellish trouble? Will an older girl lure him away?

After they taste each other’s passion, where will their emotions take them? Does their love grow deeper and their passion hotter? Can all their youthful dreams be fulfilled?

Follow this candid story of her journey from the ideals and feelings of youth through the discoveries and experiences that mature her into womanhood. Adult sexual content.

To pique your curiosity, the story is a substantially true story of how I met my husband.

Launched on 26 May 2013 by BarbarianSpy, an expanded version of the GM novella House on Park by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).

BLURB:

A young classic automobile collector is doing no more than shopping for a new toy when he is seduced by, and becomes entrapped in, the never-ending sexual debauchery of himself and others at the hands of two master male lovers, in the seemingly possessed house on Park Street.

It almost seems as if the sexual ravishment of anyone entering the house is being orchestrated by the house itself, and it requires all of the young man's fortitude and strength—and the help of a smitten burglar—to break free of the siren song of the house on Park.

This is an expanded version of the e-book, of the same title, previously published by eXcessica Publishing LLC.

EXCERPT:

I found I had a carefree weekend on my hands, so I had driven into the small college town in the far reaches of Maryland to answer an ad for a classic Triumph convertible that I might want to add to my collection. But I had been up and down the Park Street address given in the ad several times without finding the house I was looking for. So, I just parked my car and started hunting on foot. I did find the address, but no one seemed to be home. There wasn’t any evidence of the Triumph, either.

I looked around, hoping to find a neighbor or someone I could ask about the car, when I saw them, there, across the street. They were both looking mighty fine. The car was a 1963 Pontiac Tempest convertible in pristine condition, and the guy working on the car seemed to be in pretty pristine condition as well. I was sure I was in luck. This guy must be a classic car buff as well and would be able to tell me about the Triumph. But my foot wasn’t even off the curb before I forgot all about the Triumph I’d come to see.

As I crossed the street, I kept my eye on the young man, who was about my own age and might have gone to the same serious-work gym I did. Not that he was muscle bound; just the musculature he had presented extremely well. He was smiling very enticingly, and I saw him slowly move the wrench he was holding to his crotch and move it up and down against the taut material. He was long and lean, and tanned. His jeans waistband started just below a hint of curly black pubic hair, and I loved the way the line of his pelvis V’d down to the jeans and the flatness of his belly—and the pertness of his navel. The material was worn at his crotch, which tended to focus attention and the crotch itself jutted out with a promise that started my own basket to start to swell.

Any sense that the day was lost from not being able to find the Triumph for sale was beginning to drain away from me. And I wondered. . . . And almost involuntarily my hand dropped to my own crotch, and I put whatever question I could in my gaze when his eyes came up to meet mine. I thought I’d have to telescope some further question, but then he came through with the signaling that made my day.

The move of the wrench scratching whatever itch he had in his pelvis provided an unmistakable message. When I reached him, I started to speak, but he turned and walked around to the trunk of the Tempest, in the shadows from the buildings on either side of the drive. I followed him around to the back of the car to where I faced him, very close, but not touching. My eyes were locked on his, and the lust in his eyes was almost electric. He sat back on the car’s trunk and, winding his left hand around the back of my neck, he pulled my face to his.

Blurb:
An anonymous liaison with a young goth princess. No demands. No strings. Perfect.
That's what I thought at the time. Soon I realize that strings aren't Dex's thing. Ropes and cuffs perhaps, crops and floggers even, but no strings.
I learn also that some pleasures come in unusual forms. I've never been averse to pleasure, but there are times I ask myself whether it's worth the price of submission.

Exerpt:
Even though I've done nothing but receive her attentions, I'm spent. I lean back, feeling light-headed and bemused by what has just happened.
She stands and for the first time I notice a tattoo on her lower abdomen and reach out to trace it with my finger. She freezes for a moment as though this touch is an intimacy that I haven't yet earned.
The girl straightens and runs her index finger across her lips. It takes nothing for her to put herself back together. In a moment she appears as she did before—a little flushed, perhaps, but still that monochromatic, prickly creature that I'd met only an hour or two before.
She digs into her handbag and pulls out a tube of lipstick. I think that she's going to apply some but instead she approaches me. On my chest she begins writing.
"You can reach me here", she says. "Leave a message. No promises," she adds.
I look down. She has written a telephone number.
It's evidently okay to speak again. "The butterfly?" I ask. "What is it?"
"A swallowtail."
Then she's gone.

Luke Walker is tired. He spends long hours between his job as a teacher assistant at an elementary school and helping out his family at their restaurant. Coupled with the fact that his degree is going to waste, he’s discouraged and fatigued by too much work and endless southern heat, and not enough time spent with his live-in partner.

An understanding Dom...

Gage Holt has been on both sides of the fence. He believes that in order to be a good Dom, one has to understand being a sub. Unfortunately, he’s had some bad experiences in pursuit of that knowledge, and suffered a great deal. But that’s in the past now.

A long weekend...

Three little days... Gage is determined to see that his man gets what he needs in every way he can give it to him. Anything to remove the dark circles from beneath his beautiful eyes. For the next seventy-two hours, he’s going to pamper his boy—in his way. He’ll fight a bull that hates him, battle with a crusty old woman at a gift shop who snubs him, and deal with the never-ending lack of money just to bring the shine back to Luke’s eyes.

Luke will relax and have some fun, even if Gage has to tie him to whatever flat surface happens to be handy.

Excerpt:

“Hey.” Luke walked into the kitchen, came up behind Gage, and hugged him.

“Hey babe, glad you’re home.” Gage turned in the arms that held him and returned the hug.

“So am I. It was a really, really long day.” Luke stepped back and loosened his tie. It’d been strangling him for the better part of the day. “Been in meetings for most of the morning, and oh joy, since this was a county wide in-service, we had to dress.”

“I know. I enjoyed listening to you bitch about that very thing this morning while I was trying to get dressed.” Gage tapped the end of Luke’s nose. “But you do look good in a suit. And I so enjoy taking it off you.”

Luke laughed, shaking his head. “You always say that, but I’d rather be in jeans. You like taking those off, too."

“You bet.”

“Perv.”

“You know it.” Gage winked as he turned back to the stove to test the spaghetti sauce. “Was it bad?”

Luke leaned against the counter. “Well, we did get an hour lunch after we returned from the Civic Center. That was the only place big enough for the district. They made us ride a damn school bus over and back. Right after that, we got an hour to work in our room. Then the damn meetings started in the cafeteria. I hate those the worst. I swear my ass is numb from those seats, but we’re finally done with in-service for this month.”

“Poor baby.” Gage held the spoon up to let Luke taste the sauce. “Dinner’s almost ready. You hungry?”

Luke licked the spoon. “Needs a bit more salt.” He rolled his head, trying to pop his neck. His shoulders were tied in knots. “Yeah, I am hungry, but let me unwind for a few first. I’m still too much in school mode to eat right now.”

“Think I will. Be back in a minute.” Slightly surprised and a little miffed, Luke climbed the stairs. Usually Gage attacked him when he wore a suit. As soon as Gage got it off him, he’d find himself over whatever flat surface was closest.

With a shrug, and with fatigue dragging at him, he pulled off his suit jacket as he entered their bedroom. Throwing it over the treadmill, he unbuttoned his shirt. This was the first night he’d managed to get home on time. With a grateful sigh, he untucked the shirt. He had a long weekend coming, and all he wanted to do was rest and play catch-up with his partner. From what Gage had said, they were on the same page. All he wanted to do was relax, and enjoy.

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love. He wasn’t talking about the quick fucks they had lately. Hell, both of them had been too tired to do much else. Luke cringed. Okay, he’d been too tired or too busy. He missed Gage’s touch on his body, the bite of ropes on his wrist, the pinch of a gag.

His body ached with need for what his lover could give him. Luke slipped off his dress shoes and pants. As he undressed, he noticed the pair of night pants on the end of the bed and a folded piece of paper on top.

“Hmm, what’s this?”

As Luke read the note, his body came alive. It looked like his dry spell was over. It also explained why Gage hadn’t thrown him down on the kitchen table and ripped the suit off him. He had other plans, apparently. Following the instructions, he stripped out of his underwear, slid the cock ring on his awakening shaft, and pulled the night pants up. The instructions were very clear—that was the only clothing he was to wear.

Launched on 7 June 2013 for summer reading, the humongous, fifty-story anthology of GM reading set in the equatorial band between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, published by BarbarianSpy, Tailsin the Tropics, by habu (a pen name of sr71plt).

BLURB:

Steamy climates. Hot men. Sizzling man sex. This meaty fifty-story anthology takes you inside the world’s tropical zone, roughly between the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn, in a whirlwind introduction to some of the hottest and most exotic male-male action and varied tales of taking you could wish for. We have served up for you herein spicy platters of drama, amusement, pathos, domination, discovery, arousal, melting of reluctance, irony, and surprise: your porn stars gone wild, your jungle soldiers in search of adventure, your older men dominating young hunks, your sex-rocked yachts, your gay bordellos and male prostitutes on the prowl, your no-swim suit pools, your exotic sex nests, your hot night life and full-throttled spirals into seduction, and the realization of wild dreams and hot-blooded passion."

So, pull on your Speedos (or not) and head for the tropical beaches of the Caribbean, the Atlantic, the Indian Ocean, and the Pacific to see how many ways, and in how many different hot and humid locales, you can be aroused and satisfied.

Excerpt:

When I left the consulate, I didn’t want to go back to the hotel just yet. Gupta was supposed to have moved to his own room by now. But even if he had, I wasn’t anxious to move back into his controlling sphere. I could hear the ocean from the street in front of the consulate, so I picked my way through the muddy streets there and, shortly, found myself at the edge of the beach overlooking the Bay of Bengal. From here the sea looked vast and the beach looked almost pristine, even though it bordered a teeming city of nearly five million. That figure alone made me shudder—a city that few in the West even knew about located near the end of the earth and with five million inhabitants.
There were only a few people out on the beach, most of them just standing and looking out to sea. I fancied they all were seeking a private moment, turning toward a vast emptiness and away from a human anthill.

He was standing about half way between the upper edge of the sand and the waves lapping up on the beach. For some reason I recognized him even from the back—out of all of those five million people in Chennai—and even though he no longer wore the clothes he’d been interviewed in.

He was short and a rich brown, but unlike so many in the north, he wasn’t thin and emaciated looking. He was beautifully formed even by Western standards. He was bare above and wearing a white dhoti flowing down to his ankles. The dhoti was being ruffled in the sea breeze, and occasionally opened enough to show a well-turned, if miniature, calf. His feet were in thin-soled sandals. His biceps and shoulders were well muscled, and there was a dip from his shoulder blades and broad shoulders down to a thin waist before his buttocks flared out in back. Not his hips, though, he didn’t have the hips of a woman.

When I came up beside him, I saw that he had his arms folded across his well-muscled chest. A gold medallion on a thick gold chain hung from his neck, the medallion nestled in the cleavage of his chest. He had a sweet, enticing scent about him. Of cloves and cinnamon, and I ever after was to think of the sweetness of these smells when I thought of him.

“Hello,” I said. “It’s Sanjay, is it not?”

“Yes, hello, Mr. Jenkins,” he answered in a soft voice. “Did you hear the sea calling?”

“Yes, exactly,” I answered, a bit surprised because only now I realized that this was so. “Did you as well?”

“Yes, I often come out here to listen to the sea. Often I need to withdraw.”

“Withdraw?”

“Yes, from Chennai, from the taboos of Indian society.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I answered, my heart beginning to beat faster, because I had a definite inkling that I did know what he meant.

He turned and gave me a sharp, knowing look, that went to the quick of me. Then he returned his gaze to the sea. “I have a feeling that you do know.”

My heart was racing. Should I just pretend I hadn’t heard him say that? His voice was low. Could he believe that a statement that stripped all pretense from me had gone unheard?

“You did well in the interview and the testing today,” I said.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Very well.”

“My heart soars at the sound of that.”

There was silence between us for nearly a minute, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was more of a building of the senses and of a sensuality in just being close to each other. I certainly felt it, but I felt the heat of it coming off his body too, even though the sea breeze was getting chilly. I moved a hand out from my body, toward him, and although I didn’t see him noticing I’d made that gesture, he placed his hand in mine.

“If I asked you to come with me, now, would you do it?” It was not of my own will that I said that; it just came out of me.

Pure, a M/M BDSM, Mythology, Fantasy novella, was released from Dreamspinner Press on June 12, 2013.

~ A lovely 4 heart review from MM Good Book Review http://mmgoodbookreviews.wordpress.c...by-m-a-church/ - The story is well written and we see all the guys from the previous Gods books. There was one part of the story that caused me to nearly die, Mo gets the ultimate revenge on Ares and it was so unexpected and funny that I sprayed tea everywhere, snorted it out of my nose and choked as I inhaled it… I have so got to stop drinking tea when I read.

~Pure has a silver star at ARe.

~Pure made ARe Bestseller list

~Pure made Dreamspinner's Besteller list

Blurb:

Zygi Wyatt is an intimidating dom, but he yearns for love just like the next man. However, finding a partner who isn’t scared of his size is no easy task. The easygoing Mo seems like the answer to his prayers.

Love is the stuff of dreams. Ask the god Morpheus—he knows all about it. Mo wants Zygi in a forever kind of way, but he has to be sure of Zygi’s love before he claims him for his mate and reveals his true self.

Unfortunately, Zeus is growing increasingly unhappy with Morpheus, and Ares is determined to throw a monkey wrench into everything. Zygi and Mo will have to brave the wrath of the gods to make their dreams come true.

ZYGI led Mo into the club and found an open cabana. He sat down and motioned for a waitress. “Been waiting long?”

“I just arrived. Since you weren’t here yet, I waited for you.” Mo bit his lip. “Hope that was okay.”

“Glad you waited. I had a few things to do. Is this cabana good? Or would you prefer to move to Jeff’s? It’s fancier.” The waitress arrived and Zygi held up his hand for her to wait. “What do you want to do?”

Mo’s wide eyes looked around their cabana. “Nicer than this?”

Zygi snorted. “Yeah. He’s the owner, remember?”

“I like this one. Can we stay here?”

“Absolutely. Now, what do you want to drink?” Zygi shrugged. “We’re on my dime, so don’t be afraid to order top shelf if you want.”

Mo shifted in his seat. What in the name of the gods did that mean? He couldn’t see the main bar from here, so how would he know what was on the top shelf? What Zygi said had to mean something other than what he thought. He really wished Cam was with them so he could translate.

Zygi saw the confusion on Mo’s face. There—there was that language barrier that kept popping up. Could he really not know what it meant? “Um, what I mean is if you want a drink, you can order the expensive brands.”

Mo’s eyes lit up. “Can I have a Cherry Coke? Cam got me one at that fast-food place where the girls skated out to your car.”

Zygi stared at Mo, then looked at the equally shocked waitress. “Penny, bring me a Bud and a large Cherry Coke for him—a virgin Cherry Coke, please. Close the door when you leave too.”

“Got it.” She flashed a smiled at Mo before hurrying off.

“So, been meaning to ask you. How did you know what was going down, ah, I mean, what happened between Cam and Jeff?”

Mo lowered his eyes to the table. “Cam told me Brad had been kicked out by his long-time boyfriend, Aaron. He’d shown up on Jeff’s doorstep with some half-baked idea of using Jeff for free room and board until Aaron took him back.”

“He found out later, after he and Jeff made up. Jeff said Brad set the stage in an effort to get rid of Cam. It didn’t work, of course, but the resulting argument between Jeff and Cam in the parking lot was something to see, Zygi.”

Zygi frowned—that was his problem. As he’d sat there watching the film, it was like he was seeing it for the first time. He had no real memory of the fight. Jeff and Cam acted like everything was fine and had retired to Jeff’s penthouse to make up.

Mo chewed his bottom lip as he watched Zygi. This was what he had dreaded. He couldn’t very well tell Zygi the truth, now could he? That Cam, Jeff’s boyfriend—who was really Jeff’s mate—was the legendary Cupid. And that Cupid had a dark side, known as Jealousy, who had made an appearance thanks to Brad showing up. Oh yes, he could just imagine telling Zygi how the god of all gods, Zeus, would have Cupid’s wings if it became public knowledge the gods walked the Earth. If said knowledge got out because Cupid lost control and exposed himself? Well, Morpheus wouldn’t want to be around for the smackdown.

He couldn’t tell Zygi that Jealousy was an ugly creature who was as fearsome as he was dangerous. He also couldn’t divulge that Jealousy—in a fit of rage—might toss around a vehicle or three, in which case he would’ve had to play catch. Mo was relieved he hadn’t had to protect Jeff from Jealousy’s wrath. Somewhere in Jealousy’s twisted mind, there must have been a need or a desire not to hurt Jeff—the creature must have known what Jeff was to him. And finally, there was the issue of who Mo himself was—he wasn’t human either.

Mo twisted a paper napkin the waitress had left as he readied himself to launch into his lie. “Cam called me. He was so mad I could barely understand what he was saying. But I knew something was wrong, so I headed over here. I figured I’d get the story from Jeff. I wasn’t expecting to walk into a shouting match in the parking lot.”

The conversation stopped as the waitress brought their drinks. Mo stirred his Coke, wishing he didn’t have to lie. He wished he hadn’t had to make Zygi sleep through the whole thing. He didn’t want to lie to Zygi about Jeff catching Cam in the parking lot. Nor had he wanted to mess with the cameras in case Zygi tried to watch the argument that never took place. He hadn’t had a choice. How did humans keep all these lies straight? His foray into the human world was turning into a huge pain.

My story is called Teacher, Teacher and it's about what I wish would have happened at summer school.

Here's an excerpt:

We were back at his desk but this time he had his arm around me and I was leaning against his chest while he explained a math formula to me. When I told him I understood, he kissed me on the lips. My dick stiffened at the feeling of his dark stubble scratching my face.

“Let’s see how you do on next problem, Kyle,” he said, putting his hand on my lower back.

I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking while I worked out the answer and wrote it on the paper in front of me. My writing didn’t even look like my own.

“Very good,” he said, giving me a killer smile. He leaned in and kissed me again. This time his tongue pressed against my lips and slid into my mouth.

I couldn’t believe I was actually making out with my teacher behind his desk. I don’t know how long we kissed but all too soon he pulled away.

“Back to work,” he said. All I could do was nod. I tried to watch what he was doing but my dick throbbing in my shorts was throwing me off.

With some difficulty I worked out the next problem, not at all sure I had got it right but desperately hoping I had. I held my breath while he checked it over.

“Good work,” he said, turning to face me.

He pulled me in for a kiss and this time he hugged me in close. I nearly jumped when his hands slid between us and he started rubbing at my nipples through my t-shirt. My dick was so hard it was starting to hurt. I shifted around uncomfortably.

“Don’t you like that, Kyle? Because if there’s anything that feels wrong to you, just say so and we’ll stop.”

“Tell you what,” he said, gazing down at my lap. “If you get the next two problems right, I’ll help you out with your ‘problem’.”

I didn’t know what he had in mind exactly but I sure wanted to find out. Feverishly I worked away while he got up and walked to the door. I heard the lock click and glanced up. As he made his way back towards me I couldn’t help but notice that his black pants were tenting out in front of him.

Finally I got it done. He checked my work over while I held my breath. His expression didn’t change. Did I make a mistake? Damn it.

He nodded at me and I exhaled sharply. “Looks like you’ve got it down.” He paused and I stopped breathing.